


Where the Heart is

by Elphen



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Hospitalization, Insecurity, M/M, cardiac arrest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-15
Updated: 2015-11-15
Packaged: 2018-05-01 19:27:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5217884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elphen/pseuds/Elphen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While Sherlock is out on a case a long way from London, John collapses on the street. He wakes up in hospital, saved after having suffered a cardiac arrest, but Sherlock is nowhere to be seen, even thoug he is listed as next of kin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where the Heart is

**Author's Note:**

> This was written mainly as a means of catharsis. I'm in my 20s and have just suffered this myself. It's a harrowing experience and so I needed to write *something* to get it out of my system a bit. Apologies.

It started with a feeling of dizziness. To begin with, it wasn’t really that noticeable, so John didn’t pay it that much attention as he packed up his things for the day. He said goodbye to his colleagues and headed out the door, walking slowly

He was in no particular rush, seeing as he was alone in the flat for the next few days; Sherlock had taken a case down in Cornwall that had some aspects that would at the very least keep him down there for a few days, if not longer. The doctor would have gone with his friend, if not for the fact that he would more than likely be fired if he took any more days off in the foreseeable future.

So Sherlock had given him a thorough kiss goodbye before he had boarded the train a few days previously. There had been no text or other communication from the younger Holmes since that time, but then again John hadn’t really expected there to be. Lovers they might have been for quite a few years by that point, and best friends for ages before that, but that didn’t mean that Sherlock had shed his tendency to focus exclusively on whatever case he was currently involved with.

John’s plan for the night was therefore to go and grab a good curry on the way home and a few lagers, find something to either read or watch that wasn’t too taxing and have an early kip. It had been quite the exhausting day, which he attributed the dizziness, the unsteadiness of his walk and his growing tiredness to.

“Mate, are you alright?” The voice sounded strangely far off. John frowned, or at least felt as though he did. That seemed a rather stupid question. Why wouldn’t he be alright? He was just walking home after work, like everyone else. Nothing that anyone should take notice of there, really.

He then vaguely felt a pressure on his chest that increased and decreased quickly and regularly. Then everything was dark.

 

* * *

 

When he woke, though he was in a bed, it wasn’t the bed he shared with Sherlock or even his own old bed he sometimes used when they’d had rows. Instead he saw white railing right in front of him as he opened his eyes leading him to only one conclusion; he was in the hospital. Why he was in hospital he had no idea, however.

He tried to sit up as he normally did and his entire chest screamed at him in utter agony at the first little movement. It felt like something was lying heavily across it and pressing its weight down while small spikes of pain erupted from within. The pain increased with every breath he tried to take, which he only then discovered was rather laboured. A tube went into his nostrils, providing him with extra air, and he had more tubes and needles sticking into him than he would care to contemplate.

For a while he just lay there, attempting not to comprehend what had happened, but simply to pull his brain into some semblance of cohesion. Every time he breathed in, that attempt was severely hampered as the pain reasserted itself.

What had happened?

Footsteps alerted him to the fact that someone was entering the room.

“Hello, John. It’s good to see that you’re awake.” The voice was male, warm and comforting and exactly the tone of voice he himself would use on patients who’d suffered something horrible.

He tried to speak, but all that came out was a wheezing croak. He was, however, able to focus on the man now in front of him.

“Ah, yes. Your voice isn’t quite there yet. It’ll come in time. You’ve had quite enough on your plate as it is.” He paused for a moment, looking into John’s eyes intensely as he seemed to consider something. “I wish I could say this in a gentler way, but since you’re also a doctor, I think you’d appreciate the honesty.” He paused again. “You have suffered a cardiac arrest and were only just resuscitated in time.”

John would have uttered a very loud ‘what?’ if he were able but as it was, his expression must have shown his feelings clearly enough.

“It’s not uncommon for men of your age, though it is unusual when you’re as fit as you are. Now, what we’re going to do is not only to monitor you, but put you through a few tests that will hopefully clear up why exactly this happened. That won’t be until tomorrow, though. Right now, I’ll let you get some rest. You’ve just been through some gruelling hours.” John could guess exactly where those hours had been spent. It was not exactly difficult.

He was left on his own shortly afterwards, after the nurse with the doctor had checked his blood pressure as well as his oxygen levels and taken a blood sample. Through it all, it was hard for the blonde to concentrate on much anything else but trying to breathe without his chest exploding in pain with every inhalation. He wasn’t having much success.

Some time passed. How much he had no idea. Another nurse came by to take his temperature and administer some pills and a drip and then he was alone again. More time passed; he might even have been through an entire night. It was difficult to measure the time elapsed with the pain and the morphine in his system.

Through the haze he vaguely wondered why he was alone; not that he wasn’t sharing the room with any other patients but that nobody was sitting in the visiting chair. Sherlock had been listed as his next of kin for some time before they became lovers; the hospital would not have failed to contact him, so he should be aware that something was wrong. That was, of course, only if he had actually bothered to pick up his phone. He was, after all, on a case. Was he? How many days had passed since he had collapsed?

When someone other than a doctor or a nurse did show up, there was no tell-tale swirling coat or dark brown hair with a silver sheen. Instead there was an almost equally familiar brolly and hair that was amazingly as ginger as ever.

“Mycroft?” John asked, his voice having somewhat returned to him in the time that had passed, though it had trouble rising above a very soft level.

“Indeed, John, and I apologize that it has taken me this long to come visit.” Over the years, their relationship had softened to a point that could be called friendly and the elder Holmes wasn’t as averse to showing his proper emotions as he used to be

Mycroft looked around, a frown slowly developing on his face. “Where have you hidden my brother?”

“Ehm...well, he’s not here.” It was surprisingly hard to get those words out.

The frown deepened. “Am I correct in assuming it isn’t because he’s just out getting coffee?”

“You’ve got access to the feed of all the security cameras in London, or all of the country, more like, so why are you asking?” Speaking hurt but he carried on nevertheless. “You know perfectly well that he’s not been anywhere _near_ the hospital in the time I’ve been here. He’s got a case. Probably haven’t looked at his phone once.”

Mycroft didn’t answer, but the corners of his mouth drew downwards. He gave a somewhat terse nod, then turned on his heel and walked out of the door. The doctor watched him go then he closed his eyes. He’d tried very hard not to dwell on the fact that he hadn’t heard a single word from his lover in the time he had been stuck in hospital, but when even Mycroft could come and Sherlock hadn’t shown his face, it was hard not to be affected.

John closed his eyes hard, willing the unbidden tears to dissipate. There was nothing to be done about it; Sherlock would come when his case had wrapped up and that was an end of it. Until then, what John should focus on was getting some rest. There was an ultrasound and a magnetic resonance imaging to deal with the following day as well, and his ribs were giving him hell despite the morphine, so that truly was the sensible thing to do. It wouldn’t do anyone any good to dwell on it.

He didn’t get too many hours of sleep that night and it wasn’t only because of the pain.

 

* * *

 

The door banged open, startling John out of his uneasy sleep and making him jump, which caused him to draw in a sharp breath in pain.

He raised his head from the somewhat lumpy pillow with some difficulty and tried to focus bleary eyes on the figure standing in the doorway. He managed to make out a silhouette that was familiar in the light streaming into the dark room from the lit hallway.

“John?” The voice was quiet and sounded, if the army doctor didn’t know any better, rather uncertain.

John would have answered if his voice would have cooperated. As it was, all he managed to get out was a small croak. He attempted to sit up to better determine whether it actually was Sherlock, but only managed to rise up on his elbows.

“John.”

“What is it, Sherlock?” He hadn’t meant it to come out sounding accusatory, but it did, slightly, even through the quietness of his voice.

Instead of answering, Sherlock moved forward in a way that could easily be described as rushing. When he reached the bed, though, he stopped dead, hovering as if unsure of what to do. His gaze seemed fixed at the smaller man’s chest.

“I...I didn’t know,” he said, a tremble in his voice. “I didn’t...I should have...warning signs...”

“Not sure if there...was any way _to_ know, to be honest,” John replied in his weak voice. He tried for a smile; he wasn’t really that angry, when it came down to it. After all, he knew what the consulting detective was like, better than anyone. “You were on a case. Did you catch them?”

“I should...you could have...I could have lost you.” Only then did he look up into John’s eyes, his own brimming with unshed tears.

“I’m well past fifty, Sherlock,” John said, not entirely sure if he was trying to soothe or reprimand, “and I’ve not exactly been kind to my body, so it’s not that unlikely. Sometimes these things happen.”

“You can’t die, John.”

“Everyone dies at some point, love.” Now his voice was definitely soothing, which had something to do with the edge of pleading in the brunette’s voice and the lost look on the pale features. “I guess we should just be glad that someone knew to administer CPR well enough that it wasn’t my turn this time around, yeah?”

Sherlock merely nodded, then bent forward and buried his face in the crook of his lover’s neck. The rest of the lanky body found its way onto the mattress, curling itself around the stockier one.

John was about to remind the other to mind his broken ribs when he felt wetness bathe his throat and soak into the white cotton gown he was wearing. Bony hands were placed on either side of his torso and, even in the dim light, the way the shoulders and torso shook was clearly visible.

He raised a hand slowly to rest on a shoulder blade, carefully caressing. “Sherlock?” he asked hesitantly.

“Idiot. Idiot. _Idiot!_ ” It was low and close to a mumble, but no less fierce for that.

“Well, not like I did –“

The consulting detective raised his head, tear-filled eyes as fierce as his voice. “Not _you._ Me. Preferring to solve some utterly insignificant case instead of – “

“Hey, now, you couldn’t have known I would topple over with cardiac arrest when you boarded the train. At least I hope not.”

“I ignored any and all calls, even the one by Mycroft and the hospital. I didn’t even _think_ that something might have happened to you. I should have thought, should have _known_!”

“How?” John demanded. “How the hell would you have known?” He paused for a moment, frowning as he worked something out. “Please don’t tell me you think you could have done something to prevent it. You do, don’t you? You think that if you’d stayed at home, it wouldn’t have happened. Sherlock – “

He was interrupted. “It doesn’t matter if I could have done something or not, if I could have prevented it or not. The point is that I prioritized a case over you. Again.”

“I had work. That is _your_ work. I understand. Always have.”

Sherlock leant forward and kissed John on the mouth, softly and a bit hesitantly but more full of emotion for that. “I never could have chosen a more fitting partner. You have taught me so much over the years; that you are far more important than any case is something I’ve been too stupid to acknowledge.”

He sat up and considered his partner for a moment with an intense gaze that only time had made John less uneasy about receiving. “We’re going to retire,” he then declared.

“You _what?_ ” John spluttered, disbelief written clearly on his face. “You have got to be kidding me – you’ll go mad from boredom within a _week,_ at most, never mind that we can’t afford to. Why on earth would you want that?”

“It’d make me able to keep an eye on you.” The tone was calm, logical and full of finality. Almost demonstratively so.

“You can do that without retiring, you berk. Besides, I’m going to get an ICD tomorrow, so it won’t ever happen again.” He saw the look of pleading and remorse in the pale eyes. “Oh, _fine_. We’ll talk about it later, okay? Now, are you going to sit there all night or are you going to let me get some actual sleep?”

In response, the consulting detective smiled. John expected him to crawl out of the bed, but instead he shuffled around so that he fit beside his lover on the bed, being very mindful of the shorter man’s state.

“I love you, John.”

“It’s amazing what it still takes to get you to say that after all these years. I love you too, Sherlock.”

It took a while, but when John finally fell asleep, he felt a whole lot better than he had earlier.

**Author's Note:**

> I've been sparse on the details on purpose - I wanted something good as the end of it. Got nothng much else to say other than to those that follow my other stories, I have not forgotten them. I just needed to write this first.
> 
> Feedback would be dearly loved and treasured


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